Merry Christmas, Mike
by I Am James Moriarty
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Mycroft is roped into caring for his lover's children, Sophie and Daniel he finds himself barely making it through the day. The children are dirty, loud, and well, they hate him. Day Two in my OTPresents '25 OTP's in 25 days'. This time it's Mystrade. Favourite, follow and review!


"Mister, I want one of these."  
"No."  
"Mike, please can I have another ice cream?"  
"My name is Mycroft, and no, no you can't."  
"Why not?!"  
"Because, your father doesn't want you spoiling dinner, apparently."

"I won't! I'll still eat dinner! Ple-eease."

Mycroft could feel the beginning of a migraine appear, softly throbbing between the bridge of his nose and behind his eyes. Of all the days, of all the children, of all the- "Mike! Look, look look!"- He didn't think it were possible, but these... 'children' were somehow louder, more insolent and infinitely more repetitive than Sherlock had been as a child. They darted in and out of shops, tripped up mothers loaded down with shopping, screamed, yelled, ran, and ran their grubby and sticky hands over everything. Everything. Including Mycroft's new tailored Armani suit with the pale blue pinstripe which had been sitting in his dresser, awaiting the moment when the last of his recent weight gain had dissipated and the buttons could meet without straining and leaving unsightly gaps.

There was no paternal instinct with Mycroft. He didn't want to hold them close to his chest and sing Christmas jingles with them until they fell asleep. Mycroft wanted to kill them. No. Really. He was contemplating leaving them to starve on the street, and counting how long it would take to dispose of a body, and if he had time to pick up a strudel from the patisserie he frequented. His calculations stated that he didn't, and the frown deepened. There simply was no way to abandon children and sate his sweet tooth within the space of one afternoon.

"Daniel, put down that toy locomotive."  
The blonde boy looked up at him with an expression that looked as if someone had crumpled his face, and then put it back before the bastard could bite them. Extremely attractive. His hands were covered with the remnants of a chocolate ice cream he'd bought with 'mummy's money' and there was a smudge of chocolate on his nose and cheek. How was that even possible within the plausible laws of the universe? Daniel turned back to the toy on the rack, spinning the wheels against his arm. "Woot! Woot!" He cried, moving the train above his head in an action that Mycroft believed was the boy making the train 'fly'. Oh dear Lord.

Snow was falling over London and many hoped for the first White Christmas in almost a decade. The Thames had become a river of black ink as it twisted through the city, paper-thin sheets of ice forming in some areas. Not nearly thick enough to skate on, but enough for the youth of the area to enjoy taking turns to skip stones to splinter the sheets of ice.

Mycroft had busied himself with calculating how long it would take for frostbite to set in, using two children as his example, one three and the other almost eight-purely hypothetical of course- when the girl, Sophie, tugged on the fabric of his umbrella. He instinctively snapped the object in question back from her hands and let it slide into place, resting on his shoulder.

"Mike, I have to go pee."  
All he could manage was a long suffering sigh and a roll of his eyes, his head now throbbing nicely as Christmas carols blared from the speaker of every department store in a glorious cacophony. At least Sherlock had been independent, and only relied on their nanny while he was quite young. Sophie tugged on his jacket again, her brown eyes pleading as she squirmed on the spot.

"I gotta go real bad," she whined, blinking away tears from her long lashes. It was going to take about half an hour to kill the children using hypothermia, but he supposed that would only work if they weren't wearing the ridiculous puffed jackets that looked more like personal floatation devices than a means to keep warm.

"Can I help you?" Piped up a sale assistant with a bright smile, like some devilish sniper using sickly sweet cheer as her ammunition and-Oh lord, she was wearing two sets of antlers. A badge drowning in sequins sat crookedly on her chest and whistled a high pitched version of 'Jingle Bells'. She looked too happy for her situation. Slight bags under her eyes, but not from a lack of sleep, it was from where she'd been crying herself to sleep. Eyes were important. They saw everything in a person's life, and then would recount the tale back to anyone prepared to listen. But few ever listened.

'Annie' as her name tag announced, seemed to be experiencing severe trouble with her... partner. Oh, well that was interesting. Her lover, blonde hair, not brown, had... Oh... She was left handed, and from where her hand had fallen over the freshly written words was an imprint. 'Respondent', 'restraining' and what looked like 'Tina'. The name of her lover then.  
"...and will your daddy be buying you this little train for Christmas?"

Mycroft met her gaze as she lowered herself to coo into Daniel's ear, her facade made her eyes seem bright, though Mycroft believed that she could burst into tears at any time.  
"He's not my dad!" Daniel said with a strong frown, his arms folded and the train hidden behind the puffed sleeves of his orange parka jacket. God it was hideous. He'd told Gregory it made his son look like an obese pumpkin with an issue with personal hygiene, but his lover had kissed his forehead, grabbed the keys from the dish by the front door and dashed off.

"Behave, both of you," Gregory had said before leaving Daniel in Mycroft's care. Daniel had taken it as his responsibility to stare at Mycroft and say, very eloquently to his credit. "I hate you, Mike."

"Oh," said Annie, a blush touching her cheeks as she rose to her full height. "So, who is this then?"  
"He's my daddy's friend," Daniel said as if it hurt to speak, which Mycroft knew not to be true. The little bastard could talk the ears off of a mentally retarded reindeer.  
"Aww, that's nice. Does he work with your daddy?"  
Sophie whined, but Mycroft sighed and ignored her for the moment. "No, his father and I engage in sexual and romantic relations, but his children are yet to understand the fact, so I am known as the friend. And it's the only thing I will accept being called," Mycroft said with a small smile, raising his eyebrow at the young lady as her own eyes widened at his words.  
"Ha!" cried Daniel, almost triumphantly. "You said 'sex'! You said a bad word. I'm telling mum when I get home!"  
Sophie hid behind Mycroft's leg as an assortment of mothers and fathers glared at Mycroft, some shocked with their mouths agape, while one had decided to cover her child's ear to protect it from the bad man.  
Mycroft sighed as his trouser legs were tugged by a three year old with exceptional bladder control. He slipped out his wallet and passed a note to the woman, "Would you care to look after Daniel for a moment while I take his sister to the restroom. He is allowed to purchase whatever he wants with this, and you may keep the extra. There is to be no projectiles or weapons of any sort." Daniel looked up at the note in awe. His daddy had never given him that much before.  
"Of course, I'll take care of him. And I can show you the new Hot Wheels we have in stock. They can go faster than a real race car!" She exclaimed, her eyes widening and her hands moving in animated gestures. Daniel grinned and placed the train back on the incorrect rack, much to Mycroft's displeasure. As Annie darted off with a bounding Daniel in tow, Mycroft placed the train on the correct display before taking Sophie by the arm and leading her to the restrooms. The smell of urine and the clinical hand wash was only slightly better than what he imagined the men's room to smell like during the holiday season.

The line in the restroom was exceedingly long, and Mycroft knew that the youngest Lestrade wouldn't make it to a stall, and there was no way in heaven or Earth that he was going to cope with urine on his suit. A plump, middle aged woman who looked rather like Mrs Hudson cooed at Sophie from her place in the line.  
"Oh hello, my dear. Do you need to use the potty?"  
Mycroft fought back against another roll of his eyes, and tried not to screech, 'It is called a toilet, Madam! Not a potty or a loo, or any other ridiculous name you can bestow upon it!'  
Sophie, still as shy as a fawn, nodded her head from her place behind Mycroft's leg. He cringed as he found the wet patch on the back of his knee from where the dark haired girl had been wiping her nose. Greg had mentioned something about a cold. Bastard.  
"Well, you can just pop up here in front of me," the woman said sweetly, exposing the smudge of lipstick on her tooth. A widow, Mycroft observed, and with grandchildren. Such a shame. None of her children live near her, at least not near enough for them to visit often. Of course they wouldn't notice her depression. There, in one of her bags, were presents addressed to the Barton family in Sydney, Australia. That would explain her sudden attachment to Mycroft's temporary attachment.  
Sophie looked up at Mycroft, as if asking permission. With a nod, Mycroft clasped her hand and led her to the front of the line.  
"What are you doing in here? You should take her to the men's room," piped up a woman who stared at the gentleman in the suit and the sniffling child at his feet. "I don't feel comfortable with a man in here. Rape is a serious occurrence, and being in can make women feel uncomfortable. I know I am."  
Oh Christ. He was going to shove his umbrella so far up Lestrade's southern-most orifice-Anyway. He sighed and theatrically brushed down an imagined crease in his jacket before meeting the woman's gaze. Mycroft was tired, sugar deprived, irritated, had the lord and master of all migraines, and not unlike Queen Victoria, he was not amused.  
"I'm terribly sorry you feel that way madam, but I am here to escort my lover's child to the bathroom. I am not here to prey on women as they use the facilities," he said calmly, but his blue eyes flashed dangerously. He wasn't in the mood for this.  
The woman in question, flushed pink in indignation and (somehow) angrily washed her hands before meeting his calculating gaze as she passed.  
"My cousin's girlfriend was raped," she said as if it were a threat. "A man in a suit came towards her, asked the time and bam!" The woman smacked her nicotine soaked gum and raised an eyebrow in challenge.  
"How unfortunate," he sighed, shaking his head, "it must have taken an age and a small fortune to get the smell of menthol cigarettes out of his suit." Mycroft fingers found what he'd been looking for, and he slipped the small card into the woman's stiff fingers. Sophie hurried towards the now open stall with Mycroft.  
"It's the card for my dry cleaner. He can get anything out."  
He saw the woman's face scrunched in anger, before he closed the orange door of the cubicle and leaned against it. Sophie stared expectantly up at her daddy's friend, doing her strange little wiggle.  
"What is it?"  
"He-elp," she whined, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings on her elastic waisted jeans.  
Mycroft sighed and carefully knelt, not daring to kneel on a floor as filthy as the one below him. He kept his body back, just in case of any 'leakage' and undid the fastenings of her jeans.  
Sophie held her arms up, and Mycroft quickly obliged, but he still rolled his eyes as he sat the young girl onto the plastic toilet seat. The dark haired girl sighed and the loud trickle of her urinating reverberated around the cubicle. She sighed and gave a grin, Mycroft noticing the gap in her smile from where she'd lost her first tooth. He wondered if Gregory would ever be so sentimental as to keep her tooth, or even her first curl of hair, in one of those porcelain boxes he'd seen in the 'expecting' section of gift stores.  
When Sophie finished, Mycroft passed her the toilet tissue from the dispenser on the wall of the cubicle and looked away. Thankfully, she knew how to wipe herself, but from her stiff and uncoordinated movements that Mycroft could see from his peripheral, he could see that she still wasn't very skilled in that area.  
"Done?"  
She nodded and slid from the toilet, pulling up her Disney princess knickers while she waited for Mycroft to refasten her jeans. The blue eyed man pulled up the elasticised denim and patted her arm. "Come on then."  
He flushed the toilet and made sure Sophie washed her hands. When they went to leave the restroom, the 'I can't believe it's not Mrs Hudson' woman was nowhere to be found.  
"Has he made his choice?"  
Annie looked up first, her smile reappearing as the suited man with the money to match reappeared with the young girl with her dark brown hair falling in plaits down her back. Daniel turned with a stack of Hot Wheels cars, bright blue tracks contained in vacuum sealed packages and a brown paper box.  
"And this is what you wanted, Daniel?"  
The fair haired boy nodded once and stuck his chin to his chest, making his way towards the slightly less crowded registers.  
"He got a toy for his sister too, little darling," she murmured affectionately, winding a piece of ebony hair around her finger.  
"Yes," Mycroft sighed, "he cares for her very much. Now, what is the charge?"  
"Oh it's alright," Annie said with a wave of her hand. "What you gave me is more than-"  
"Wrap them. And then keep the rest for yourself."  
Annie's dull grey eyes widened slightly and she nodded, an ever present smile on her face. "Will do, sir," she announced with a mock salute before heading off to find Daniel and to wrap the items. The crowd had settled by the time Mycroft passed in a whirl of dark fabric and expensive cologne and collected the bag from Annie, ready to leave.  
"And here you are," she said, pulling two candy canes from the pocket of her elf apron. Mycroft passed the brightly coloured confection to Sophie while Daniel was tall enough to reach it himself. "Merry Christmas!"  
Mycroft allowed himself a small, brief smile before making a bee line for the electric doors. He glided through the crowds with the bag in one hand and his phone in the other, Sophie keeping her hand fisted in the soft fabric of his jacket while Daniel whined about not being able to take his toys out to play with them. The eldest Holmes steered the children towards the nearest food court which was lit by a glass dome, exposing the petal-pink clouds of afternoon as the sun set on Christmas Eve.

"Pretty," Sophie said, and pulled herself onto a chair, pointing at the small flakes of snow that landed on the glass before sliding off.  
"Yes," Mycroft murmured, raising his brows, "it is rather beaut-Daniel, stop."  
The boy stopped in his rummaging and settled back on his seat, glaring at Mycroft from underneath furrowed brows. Mycroft ordered two large, sugary drinks for the children and a triple shot latte for himself. He leant back in the steel chair which was doing nothing for his back, and reached for the pills in his pocket.  
They were just past the human trial stage, but still not available in the UK, Australia, Japan, some of Europe and Indonesia. Mycroft had 'feelers' out everywhere, lots of fingers in lots of pies if you wish. Medical, law, and funnily enough, in the creative arts. It meant that with some generous funding, Mycroft was the first to be informed about breakthroughs in many areas, and the pills rattling in his pocket were proof of that. He was informed about the long lost Vermeer weeks before the press, and of course, the photos from Miss Adler regarding a certain member of the Royal family. He lifted the prescription bottle and studied the label like he had many times before. An ingredient that had been the product of genetic mutation, created in a laboratory and would, hopefully, one day rule out Paracetamol and Aspirin.  
"Wha's 'dat?" queried Sophie, looking up from her flavoured milk and froth concoction.  
Mycroft clucked his tongue and shook the bottle. "It's for my migraines. The new 'Superdrug' apparently."  
"Oh," she mumbled before licking at the foam at the top of her drink. "What's a migraine?"  
"It's an annoyingly strong headache, usually behind the eyes. Bright lights and certain loud sounds can make it worse," he explained in a murmur while he flicked through his phone. Damn Anthea. As soon as the clocks had ticked over to December, she'd taken her pay and her bonus and jetted off to Fiji with the latest flame, Nathaniel  
"Do you want us to be quiet?" Daniel chewed on his lip for a moment before gulping down the last of his drink. "Daddy gets them sometimes, and we have to be real quiet while he rests."  
Well, Lestrade had never complained about migraines before, but then again, Mycroft often did. Due to his character, Gregory wouldn't complain if he knew someone was suffering through something worse. After the trouble with Moriarty, Mycroft had been informed that Greg's mother had died, and he hadn't said a thing to his lover. Greg had changed the subject the moment that Mycroft asked, claiming later that he 'must have told you'  
and 'I asked you to go to the funeral, remember?'  
"No," he said with a small smile, reaching for a napkin to wipe the foam and chocolate powder from Sophie's mouth. "But thank you, Daniel."  
Daniel wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his parka and swung his legs, accidently kicking Mycroft in the knees several times, but the eldest Holmes didn't bother to stop him. It was late, and he was tired, and it was far too late to frequent his favourite patisserie to purchase something for dessert. After both the children had settled slightly, and the chocolate messes were removed from their lips, Mycroft downed two of the pink pills with the rest of his latte.  
"Are we going home now?" asked Sophie, who had offered to carry the shopping bag. Considering its weight, Mycroft agreed, and let her carry one strap while he held the other. She gave the occasional sniff, and tended to walk off on a tangent. But the children weren't making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Nope. Not a thing. No paternal love. No instinct to kiss them on the forehead. Cleaning their faces had only been out of practicality. Of course. It couldn't have been from affection.  
"Yes, I'm taking you back home," he affirmed with a nod, checking to make sure that their parka jackets were both zipped-But not because he cared. Just because he didn't want Gregory to worry if they became ill. That was it, wasn't it?  
Mycroft hailed a cab after deciding that it wasn't worth calling Charlie, his personal driver, when the man had his own family to go home to during the holidays. And he was meant to be having time off work. The cab stank of cigarettes and sweat, causing Mycroft to wrinkle his nose, but the children seemed to enjoy it immensely. Especially when the cabbie took sharp turns, flinging them against their restraints.  
He passed a note to the driver and took the bag from its place on the floor, unfolding his long limbs to exit the vehicle. Daniel helped his sister with her seatbelt, and took her hand to guide her through the snow covered road.  
As Mycroft pushed open the door, he was greeted by a very tired looking Detective Inspector. His nose was tainted with illness, heavy shadows framed his eyes and his skin was clammy and flushed. He'd been working late on the same case as Sherlock, well, his case with Sherlock's assistance and he looked like he had been the corpse found in the carriage on the London Eye. "Mycroft," he greeted, relief falling through his words. "And look, Dan and Soph are still in one piece."  
Mycroft let his eyes roll and moved passed Gregory, wanting nothing more than to curl up with his lover and sleep. The bright yellow lights of Gregory's flat made Mycroft's eyes flutter shut for a moment while he walked out from the wind as bitter as a slice of his favourite chocolate, and removed his jacket. He didn't need an overcoat, or a brightly coloured parka like the children. He enjoyed the feeling of the snow, and the ice, and the wind against his skin. Mycroft and Sherlock had to endure many a cold night at their grandparents' manor which had only several fireplaces and moth eaten blankets.  
Daniel pushed Sophie up the last step, the latter immediately holding her hands up for her daddy. "Soph!" cried Gregory, a wide grin on his face as he picked up his daughter and brushed the snow out of her hair. "And Daniel, of course." He looked quizzically at the brightly coloured bag, full of wrapped presents, which Mycroft had left beside the door. "Mycroft, what's the bag?"  
Mycroft unbuttoned his striped dress shirt and stroked his neck where the buttons had left an indentation. "Presents for Daniel and Sophie from me."  
"Oh," he murmured, his brows furrowing as he gently placed Sophie down and closed the door. Greg had no clue why Mycroft would buy his kids Christmas presents, especially after they'd had their own plans for spending Christmas. Chocolate and red wine in front of the fire while they stayed at a resort left for the rich and influential.

_'But surely you can change the date, Gregory,' Mycroft had said whilst flicking through a manila folder he'd brought back from work._  
_'No... I can't.'_  
_He couldn't forget the look that the other man had given him. The raised eyebrow and the dangerous look in his pale eyes. Yeah, he was fucked._  
_'And why not?'_  
_'Christ, Mycroft. Judith has already made plans to take Daniel and Sophie to her parents for Christmas tomorrow, and Christmas Eve is the only day I can have with my kids for the holidays.'_  
_'I'll cancel the flights,' Mycroft had said, before sliding his thin wired glasses from his nose and standing. 'Goodnight, Gregory.' It hadn't been the best of nights, and the mood hadn't improved when not only was it discovered that Lestrade was asked to come into the office to help in the investigation, and his kids were put in the charge of Mycroft._  
_'Please,' he'd pleaded over a rushed breakfast of instant coffee and brown bread covered in thick, raspberry jam._  
_And Mycroft had looked at him from behind his glasses, before placing his attention back on the file in front of him. Of course, it was inevitable. Their relationship, though in some ways not exactly typical, had usually run like the cogs humming inside of Big Ben. But obviously this was about to change. 'I'll do it,' Mycroft had said softly, not bothering to hide his irritation, with his eyes still fixed on the documents in front of him._

Mycroft let a quiet smile touch his lips as he entered the kitchen and dining room, equipped with its own tiny dining table and homemade placemats, courtesy of Daniel. Laid out on the table was a roast chicken, potatoes, peas and corn, gravy, pumpkin, a row of sauces and a bowl of chips drowning in salt for Sophie and Daniel. Gregory must have picked it up from his way home, Mycroft thought, he wouldn't have had time to do this himself.  
"Well, come in guys. Daniel, paws off! If these are presents, they go under the tree with the others."  
"But da-ad!"  
"Go on, take Sophie to wash your hands for dinner." Daniels feet made loud 'smacks' against the linoleum as he headed into the bathroom with his little sister in tow, making sure she washed her hands like dad wanted.  
Gregory smiled as he came into the dining room, Mycroft already sitting in his usual spot with his fingers steepled under his chin like he'd seen Sherlock do many times before.  
"Evening, love," he murmured and leaned over to plant a soft kiss on Mycroft's lips. They had both decided to keep the displays of affection between themselves when Sophie, Daniel or their mother were visiting. Just to be on the safe side.  
Mycroft tilted his head to meet his lover's lips, smiling softly against them, before moving back as he heard Daniel approaching. A question was on Greg's face, but he let it drop when his son entered the room and plonked himself down on his chair.  
After Greg had helped Sophie into a chair, the little family unit was ready for dinner. Gregory wasn't a religious man, but he still said grace before their meal. It was the guy's birthday after all. Well, birthday eve.  
"Tuck in, guys," encouraged Greg, chuckling as Daniel made a wild reach for the chips. He took a plate from the pile and filled it with a small amount of dinner for Sophie, who smiled at him in thanks and stabbed her fork into each individual pea before eating.  
Mycroft took his own plate, placing only a buttered roll and the majority of the vegetables onto it, forgoing potatoes and the chicken. "And thank you for the placemat, Daniel," Mycroft said, surprising the Lestrade's with his words. "I don't think I've ever eaten with a... Harry Potter and Spiderman covered mat underneath."  
Daniel leaned over the table to look at the placemat, gesturing with his fork. "That's 'oldemort, and the Green Lantern, and they're fightin' at 'ogwar's."  
"Daniel, don't talk with your mouth full," Greg chastised lightly, hiding a smirk from Mycroft's reaction to the manners of his son.  
Daniel returned to his seat, sitting with his legs crossed and smothered his chicken with tomato sauce.  
"So, did you have a fun time with Mycroft today?" Greg asked, when the uncharacteristic silence of his children got the better of him.  
"Yes," they chimed in monotone.  
"And what about you, Soph? What did you do with Myc today?"  
Sophie looked up at her father with the chocolate, Bambi eyes she'd inherited from him. "He helped me wee."  
Daniel erupted into a fit of giggles, his mouth open and sloshing around his half eaten dinner. Snorting, he dropped his fork, almost falling off of the chair with it.  
"That's enough, Daniel," he said wearily, shaking his head slightly. Daniel reacted immediately and dropped his head, obviously used to his daddy 'having enough'.  
"We visited the new department store, West of the Thames and had breakfast. Shopping, then an ice cream, then a run into the toy shop for Daniel while I took Sophie to the restroom. A hot drink, and then we took a taxi home," rattled off Mycroft, barely touching his food, but rather pushing it around with his fork.  
Greg smiled and stole a sauce soaked chip from his son, popping it into his mouth with a wink. "Sounds like you two had a fun day while I was at work. Better than going to pa's?"  
Daniel groaned about pa's, before confirming that yes, even he had found the trip... tolerable, to an extent. Sophie nodded and smiled before pulling apart her chicken slices with her fingers.  
Greg placed a hand on Mycroft's thigh, rubbing softly and gesturing with his eyes to the uneaten food. And dammit- Lestrade was giving him the infamous puppy dog eyes, raising an eyebrow.  
"You have to eat your vegetables, Mike," said Sophie quietly, licking the salt from the crisps from her fingers. "That's what mum says."  
Daniel nodded, "Uh huh. And if you don't, Dad will get cross. He does when I don't."  
The corner of Mycroft's lips twitched into a half smile and he placed a sliver of pumpkin into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking. "Better?"  
The Lestrade's all confirmed that yes, it was better now that he was eating. Greg still tried to get his lover to eat, offering him the salted chips and even trying to feed him a piece of chicken while the children put their plates on the sink. He didn't want to push it too far in case Mycroft threw it all up again before morning, but he still wanted the man to have something in his stomach.  
After dinner had been cleared up, the children immediately rushed into the lounge, ecstatic by the promise of premature presents. Greg poured himself and Mycroft a glass of wine and entered the room, turning on the electric heater before he sat down. He sat next to Mycroft on the couch and allowed the man to rest his head on his shoulder. It had been a long day, after all.  
"Alright Dan, pull out the presents," Greg said, chuckling as Mycroft gave a long suffering groan and hid his head in his lover's shoulder. There were only a very few amount of gifts, after all, they were only really there for the benefit of the Lestrade children.  
"Me, Soph, Soph..." rattled off Daniel as he slid the presents along the carpet. Mycroft sipped at his wine, moving his body to fit snugly against Greg's side.  
"Myc," Dan said, shuffling forward on his knees and presenting him with a small brown box. Mycroft smiled softly and thanked him, placing the wine on the coffee table while he opened it. Greg gave his son and daughter the all clear to open their gifts, which they responded to with vigour, shredding paper and biting through sticky tape, while Greg became interested in the small box. He hadn't placed it beneath the tree. He was saving Mycroft's present for when his kids left-Oh get your mind out of the gutter, it's not that kind of present.  
"Well open it," Greg prompted, nudging his knee. Mycroft lifted the lid and let out a small laugh, pulling the small toy out of the box. It was a duck shaped soap with a pipe and a black top hat, which smelt rather like frangipani.  
"Do you like it?!" Daniel asked immediately, perching himself upright to look at the duck. "The lady picked it out for you."  
Ah, Annie. The Lesbian toy shop clerk with a love of children. Mycroft thanked Daniel and Sophie, and then asked them to show him each of their presents. Greg was more than surprised at how alert and interested Mycroft seemed as each of the toys and trinkets were presented to him for viewing. Cars and car tracks, a colouring set for each of them, finger paints, a new duvet cover for Sophie and a card with ten pounds for each of them to buy something special. Sophie protested that there was still one more present, and she pulled her candy cane from the pocket of her jeans and shyly handed it to her daddy's friend.  
Mycroft smiled warmly at the little girl who reminded him very much of his lover who sat behind him. He wrapped his arms around the girl, shocking Greg and Daniel, who stared at the action like Santa had just fallen through the roof. "Thank you," Mycroft said, releasing Sophie. "I promise I won't waste it."  
After the wrapping paper and packaging had been cleaned away, and the presents tucked away into Sophie and Daniel's room, it was bed time for all. No matter how hard Daniel protested, Greg wouldn't let him stay up any later. It was already half nine. Where had the day gone?  
Mycroft smiled as he flicked out the lights of the living area, the soap box tucked under his arm as he headed along the corridor to where Greg was saying goodnight.  
"Sophie, are you alright, love? Not too hot?"  
Sophie shook her head and clutched her new pink unicorn to her chest, snuggling under the duvet in her pyjamas. Daniel tried protesting some more, stating that at his age-the grand age of seven and a half- he should be able to stay up later. But when his father threatened that tired little boys didn't get pancakes in the morning, he fell quiet and gave an incredibly convincing yawn.  
"Goodnight daddy," mumbled Sophie from her bed, already half asleep.  
"'Night dad, night Mike," said Daniel, looking over his duvet as the light was turned off and the two men left the room.  
"You were great with them, love. Thank you," Greg said, shedding from his work uniform of slacks and a dark grey jumper into a tee shirt and faded flannelette pyjama bottoms. He closed the wardrobe softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping children next door due to the thin walls. "And you managed to stay awake through your second glass of wine. Bravo."  
"When one must cope with Sherlock Holmes, one leans to tolerate immaturity in extreme degrees," he replied, flicking through his diary as he checked on which day he was meeting with Her Majesty. Thursday, of course.  
"Ah, but that wasn't coping Mycroft Holmes," chuckled Greg, sliding into the bed with his lover. He stole the glasses from Mycroft, knowing he couldn't work in bed without them. Greg placed them on the bedside table and pulled the duvet over himself, taking a moment to get himself comfortable while the bedsprings creaked in frustration.  
"Thank you, I need those."  
"I know," Greg said smugly as Mycroft placed his diary back on his side table. "But now you'll just have to settle with sleep."  
Mycroft rolled his eyes and flicked off the lamp, leaving the room in partial darkness; the moon was still making its presence known with sharp flickers of light from behind the curtains which moved from the soft breeze. Greg immediately found Mycroft's warm body, pressing himself against his lover and rubbing his feet as he tried to stay warm. Small, delicate snowflake kisses were pressed onto the lightly freckled neck of Mycroft as he stretched out beneath Gregory, cracking his joints as he settled down for the night. "You were amazing with them, Myc," Greg whispered, sliding an arm around his narrow waist while his other arm traced the delicate curvature of his hipbones that slipped out from his borrowed pyjamas. "Absolutely amazing. You're a great dad."  
Mycroft murmured softly, not finding the energy to say much. He blamed the wine and the gluttonous feast that Greg had spread out for them. He fell in love with the way Greg's hands and lips moved over his skin, softly, and affectionately, before his hand settled on his heart and the other on his hip.  
"And, you know, if they ever came over again. I think they'd enjoy some time with their dad's friend, 'Mike'. That's if you wanted, of course. It's all up to you." It wasn't a night for fireworks, so Mycroft gave a small roll of his eyes and moved back against Lestrade. But he wasn't secretly looking forward to taking the pair on another tour of London, and he wasn't thinking of wiping ice cream from their chins or kissing their foreheads when they were worried and anxious. Not at all. He wasn't feeling the paternal instinct. He wasn't. And he definitely didn't feel anything sentimental from the duck soap. The reason that it was stashed high in the wardrobe, behind his clothes, well that was for a different reason entirely. It was for... Something. Something practical. Yes. That was it. Because Gregory Lestrade's children didn't mean anything to him. He didn't think of his lover when they looked at him, or when they were snuggled up in bed, almost identical in their positions and expressions. He was Mycroft Holmes, and he didn't bother with such trivial matters as two small children. They weren't his and they didn't mean- Oh bugger. He was in deep.


End file.
